


You're My Duct Tape (I'm Your Faulty Hose)

by misura



Category: Kings (TV 2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it happened that King Jack descended from his throne to speak with King David, saying, <i>My car has broken down - will you fix it for me?</i>. And King David said <i>Yes, I will.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Duct Tape (I'm Your Faulty Hose)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taliahale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taliahale/gifts).



"You could just say you wanted to see me, you know," David says. There's a wrench in his hand and a couple of oil stains on his shirt - the state of his pants would make the good people from the palace washery weep, so Jack charitably refrains from noticing it.

Of course, if Jack gets a few stains of his own, he might drag in David's pants anyway, by way of proof that really, his aren't so bad.

Everything is relative, after all, especially the truth. Also, the people who are supposed to serve you are also the people most capable of making you feel like you're five years old and caught with your hand in the cookie jar (or, to be slightly more personal, twelve and looking at naughty pictures of barely dressed policemen).

"You have your little fantasies; I have mine." Jack saunters over to where David is standing, looking at Jack's car as if he can tell what's wrong with it simply by staring. "The difference between yours and mine being that mine actually become reality."

David snorts. "Is that so?" He opens up the hood and bends over, to take a closer look.

"Absolutely." Jack has seen a lot of naked people. He's speculated that that might be why David affects him this much, why David wearing a tight t-shirt, or bending over a car is a lot more of a turn-on than anyone else not wearing any clothes at all. Less is more, and such.

The only other explanation he can think of is that God has a sense of humor, and that would just invalidate way too many of the things Jack has come to believe over the past years.

"What fantasy would that be, then?" David is pulling or pushing at something; Jack can't tell which, and he doesn't much care, either.

If his life ever depends on his ability to fix a car, he'll look around for a motor cycle to steal or something. "You, on your back. Legs a little apart." David turns and stares at him. Jack grins. "Servicing my car."

David shakes his head and gets back to work. "You have very modest fantasies."

"It's okay," Jack says. "You can accuse me of lying. I mean, everybody else does it, why not you?"

"One journalist," David says, by way of showing that contrary to appearances, he does actually pay attention to these sorts of things. "One, out of a dozen. That's not so bad."

"My father would have had them all praising him to the sky."

David makes a face. "Your father would have had them shot for doing anything else."

"Hey, do you think I - "

"Not funny," David says. His hand tightens a bit around the wrench - subconsciously, Jack is fairly sure.

Still, it's a good reminder of who's having power over whose life here. Of who's wearing a crown, and who has been chosen by God to rule.

"I was going to say: what about a private interview?" Jack spreads his hands. "Show everyone there's a new wind blowing. That in this new, enlightened era we respect people willing to speak up when they think we're being idiots."

"Do we?" David asks, hitting something with his wrench. "Do you?"

"I think the man's an ass," Jack says, because it's useful to be honest with David from time to time. "Trying to make a splash, probably. Impress a girl, maybe."

"Or a boy."

Jack rolls his eyes. "Or a sheep."

"In which case, do you really want to reward him for tearing you down?" David tosses the wrench on the ground. Jack smirks as all four of his bodyguards tense, ready to spring into action and hand it back to him with a bow and a 'sire'.

"Is that what he did?" Jack leans against the car. "Funny. I don't feel torn down."

"Good." David straightens. His hair is tousled - or more tousled than before. "Don't grant him a private interview. Or a public one. He doesn't deserve it."

"We're in the business of giving people what they deserve now? I must have missed that memo."

"We're in the business of justice, tempered with mercy," David says.

"We're in the business of sounding pompous and pretentious."

"Blame your speech writer." David smiles. "Blame Perry, with his Book of David."

"Oh, but it's such a fun book," Jack says. "My favorite bed time reading. I suppose I could grant him an interview with you instead of me. By way of a consolation prize. You know, for effort. If nothing else, that should at least convince him of my saintly patience. And think, you could discuss all of my flaws."

"I know your flaws." David picks up his wrench. Four pairs of hands clench; four mouths tighten just a little bit, stifling a protest. "That doesn't mean I want to discuss them with some total stranger."

"Once again, you fail to grasp the essence of media wrangling."

"Can you try the engine again?" David asks.

"Well, admittedly I'm no expert on automobiles, but I'm pretty sure you can't fix a cut hose by hitting something. Just a layman's opinion, mind."

"You cut a hose." David sighs and rummages about in his toolkit. "You could have said so from the beginning. Or just _not_ cut a hose. That'd have worked, too."

"I wanted to give you an opportunity to do your thing," Jack says. "Solve the mystery by yourself."

David looks frustrated. "There's people out there with real broken cars. Who really need my help."

"I considered it, but, well, you know. The screening procedure. This seemed quicker."

"Look, Jack - "

"And we're back to our original topic of conversation. Funny how that happens, isn't it?" Jack smiles. His face doesn't feel like it might break any more when he does that, which is still a little bit of a strange sensation, even if he thinks he might get used to it eventually.

Change is like that, presumably. You think it'll never work, that you're going to end up either dead or killing yourself and then all of a sudden you realize you've made it through another day without either thing happening. And then you wake up next morning and do it all over again until it stops hurting, and you look at yourself in the mirror and see someone familiar looking back. Someone you know.

Someone you trust, in spite of all common sense.

"Are you going to be staying for dinner?" David asks, which is more or less the conversational equivalent of his waving a white flag and making it mean 'I surrender' rather than 'I am a suicidal idiot who would like to speak to your leader'.

"Probably." Jack's brought some decent wine to make David's idea of food more bearable. They're not at war anymore, after all; Jack doesn't see why his bar of 'good food' should rest at the level of military rations, as David's seems to. "If you'll have me."

"I'll have you, and gladly." David slaps his shoulder.

Jack pretends to wince. It helps that he knows David will be bringing up the hose again during dinner. Possibly even during dessert, because David is annoyingly single-minded and obsessive that way.

"I'm not cheap, you know. I'll expect you to fix my car, first."

"Don't worry," David says. "I've got some duct tape around here. That should get the trick done."

Jack swallows his first response. "Duct tape?"

"You can pull it loose next time you feel like dropping in," David says.


End file.
